


The Heart Of the North

by Lalaland101



Series: The Heart [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaland101/pseuds/Lalaland101
Summary: She was their heart. Their joy. Now they will see what she has become.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Arya Stark & Rickon Stark, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark & The North, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Nymeria & Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark
Series: The Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594966
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	The Heart Of the North

Silence smothered the room like a blanket. Jon could still hear the cheers of ‘the king of the north’ ringing in his ears, could still feel the weight of Sansa’s gaze on his cheek. They had won the battle of the bastards, saved Rickon, and Ramsay was dead. Yet it all felt for naught. The grounds that they fought so hard to save felt empty, barren. The air heavy. And the north knew why. The north remembered.

Jon could see the free folk that had accompanied them, ready to drink some nice warm ale, glancing around confused. They couldn’t see what he men of the north saw. Couldn’t feel how wrong The North felt to be back here, in this very hall, without its heart. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon could see the looks Tormund was paving his way. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t really present.  
No, Jon was back. Back with the little wolf, watching her jump on the back of her bastard brother. Watching Jory grinning proudly at the cub when she smugly dragged him over to watch her land a perfect bullseye, hiding it under the watchful eye of her unbending mother. Running and jumping, causing havoc anywhere her feet took her, laughter left in her wake. The wildest of them all. Never willing to bend to the rules and regulations of society, carving her own path with each step she took. Their wild wolf. The heart of the north.

Pressure on his shoulder pulled him back, Sansa’s sad ever knowing stare causing his hackles to lower. A head pressed against his knee; Jon carded his hand through his baby brother hair, the other coming up to rub Sansa’s on his shoulder, giving what comfort he could to his siblings. Knowing that they felt what he did all over. Even Rickon, as young as he was, remembered her the best, after all she was he one that entertained him the most. The one who he went to for comfort or for mischief. His partner in crime; the wolf blood rang strongest in them. Rickon nuzzled Jon knee, keening, because he remember that the place he felt the safest had always been cuddled into her neck.  
Jon took a deep breath, raising his head. The men of The North were all stuck, gazing into the past. After all there was no a man born of the North who hadn’t passed through this hall once in his life. Even the smallest of them. His little wolf always left an impression on everyone one she met, she certainly wasn’t a shy little thing. The older remembered catching the littlest wolf (in stature at least) in the midst of some scheme; her big grey eyes, unique to only her, peering up at them. Hopeful and willing to pass over her raspberry tart as payment for their silence. Fondly looking back at the chuckle she never failed to bring forth. 

Whilst the younger remembered her unknowing kindness, a decency that they never expected from someone of her place of birth but was never forgotten. Her loyalty, whether you were a baker’s son or a bastard or the daughter of a lord, to her it didn’t matter. Her kindness was never ending. She treated them like people, not like slaves or peasants. And to her they were. Her visits to the village of Winter Town were always welcomed by the folk, enjoyed and treasured in a way that none of her family were. She was loved. Treasured. And not just by her family. God forbid whoever tried to crush her spirit; whether it be her mother or her god’s forsaken husband.  
Even those not born to The North were remembering. Of the little northern girl that had shown so much spirit, so much life, that was rare to find in the south. Of the girl who threw food at her sister, who interrupted the king, who taught the bastard king a lesson of his own. The little wolf who would have grown up to rival her sisters beauty if she had the chance. They remembered.

Sandor Clegane stared. He stared at the room he was sat in. At the cunts that surrounded him. He’d only been here that one time, back when he was serving that fucktart Joffrey, but he remembered it well. It was the most interesting stay of his life. Given most of it was spent watching the little bird at the start but then something more interesting caught his eye. He’d just about fallen asleep leaning against the wall in the great hall, full of warm ale and legs smarting from a week full of riding. But then he’d heard a low curse beside him that peaked his curiosity, even more so at the tugging he could feel attempting at his side. Specifically at his sword.

“I don’t think you want to do that.”  
He had drawled out, content to wait for the little bugger to fuck off. But they hadn’t. So he had growled and cracked open an eye, only to be met with stormy eyes and a scowl darkening a pretty little face. She was young, young enough that she had a couple of years before she flowered and started to become more than just a little girl. Her frown deepened the more he stared at the brave little thing who had dared to approach the big bad hound.  
“An’ what do you think you’re doing?”  
“Your bloody sword thing is crushing my pran- thing, my thing.”  
He had peered down at what she was pointing at and smirked. She was a clever little thing. He raised an eyebrow.  
“And? You’re the one that left it there. Should learn to take care of your thing better, little wolf.”  
He waited for her expression to change, for it to turn into fear, for her to run off to her father and tell him about the dig that had frightened her terribly, not that he couldn’t feel the Stark fucker’s eyes glaring into him already. But all the wolf did was huff, cross her petite arms across her chest and glare.  
“Well maybe you should look where you put your things!”  
Damn did this little twerp have more balls than most of the damn men he’d ever met. Most of them would have run off whimpering by now but not her. That was going to get her in trouble someday. Maybe something her lord father couldn’t get her out of. But who was he to teach the little lady the ways of the world? No one. So he decided to indulge her.  
“Aye.”  
Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow.  
“Aye? All you have to say it aye?”  
“Well what should I say?”  
“You should say I’m going to move my rubbish so it isn’t squashing my things!”  
What a demanding little wolf. “An’ why should I do that?”  
That stopped her in her racks. She tapped her little food on the floor, eyes scrunching together as she thought, making him want to crack out a grin.  
“I’ll give you my desert!”  
And no matter how old she pretended to be she was still but a child. And so he agreed. The little wolf was the one that he watched from that day. From that day to the day that she was lost to kings landing. And the day that her father was murdered. He didn’t see again until the fucking brothers took his captive and he kidnapped her. Took her to her family, no matter how it seemed to shrink on the way there. And somewhere along the way, she became family. The wolf bitch to his hound. Or as she’d say it ‘Pack’.  
He knew what was missing. Who was missed. As did everyone. Except the stupid bunch of cunts that followed the red haired fucker. 

Jon stood abruptly, a thud sounding though the room as his hand connected with the table. His hands shook as he reached for the ale, pouring it into his cup, stating into the pale liquid like it held all the answers he needed. He reached down and pulled Rickon up from the floor and into his side, handing both him and Sansa their own mug.  
He raised it to the air, gesturing for everyone else to do the same. The men stood solemnly, patiently for their long to speak.

"To the wild wolf of The North! May our heart be causing havoc wherever she steps! Whether it be here or with the God's of old"

The men all raised their glasses and chorused.  
"To the Heart of The North!" "To the princess!"

Jon drank deeply from his cup, sitting down wrapping a strong arm around Rickons shoulders and Sansas waist. Rickon shivered and burried further into Jons shoulder.

The door to the hall burst open. The men, just say down and relaxed, shot up all drawing swords and weapons of all shorts. Between them stood a giant snowy red eyed wolf. A dire wolf. Jon sheathed his blade.

"Ghost" he whispered "Come here boy"

The wolf growled, baring its teeth, turning and darting back out the doors before returning dragging a brightly coloured women. A women of red. Kicking and screaming, she was brought before Jon as if she was an offering of some sort.The

"Dirty, Mangy, rabid creature! I'll skin you and hang you up on my wall! I will, I will..."

Her unabashed banshee-like screeches converting into the unthinkable mutterings of a crazy crow.

"If you try to touch him, it's won't be his head that's on a wall."

The wrench's mangled head snapped to meet his dark gaze. Her crazed red eyes widened with greed as she took into the expensive decorations and clothing covering everything about her. Her focus snapped back to the intimidating stance of Jon, hand on his half drawn blade, standing in front of his sibling.

"Jon Snow" she croons, "I can give you something that you want."

Her matted dress dragged as she slid towards The King of The North. Her sudden movement immediately causing Jon to fully draw his blade into a defensive position. He pushed Rickon towards Sansa urging Brienne to take them to her quarters and protect them with her life.

"A lot of people have tried to give what they think I want," he contemplated slowly moving towards his uninvited...guest, Ghost stood proudly at his hip, teeth bared in warning. "What makes you think you are any different from them?"

"Because I can give what you truly want."  
"And that is?"  
"Arya Stark."

Sansa froze in her tracks, a gasp of shock bursting from her lips. Jon already had his sword at the wrenches throat when she turned around.

"Where is she?! If you've touched her, body or mind, I will tear you to pieces and put you back together so I can do it again." He snarled, his hand tightening around the back of her neck as Tormund and (surprisingly) Sensor Clegane rushed to hold her arms captive. Jon wanted to grin at the fear brightening her eyes.

"No! No I don't have her!"  
"Then you have nothing I want. Put her in a cell," he commanded "If she knows anything then I want to know. She stays there-"  
"PLEASE! I CAN SHOW YOU HER! I CAN SEE HER! I'LL SHOW YOU!"  
Jon turned. He cocked his head, staring deep into her eyes.  
"You will show us. Everything." Sansa had practically ran to Jons side, ice clear as day in her eyes. "Everything. Or I'll use your head as a handtable."  
The wrench whimpered.

"I can't-i can't m'lady. Can only show the present-can only see the present. Little lady is in present. No more, no less, not yet-too soon."  
Jon growled. Sansa scowled. They turned to each other. A conversation for only them occurred. She nodded. He scowled back.

"Show its. Show me my little wolf. If you lie. You will die screaming. Now show us my sister."


End file.
